Tag Archives: Seinfeld

You rang?

How many of you remember the episode of Seinfeld in which a parking valet left a certain something in Jerry’s car?

Fortunately, that didn’t happen to me.

The other night, I met a friend for dinner at a wine bar in busy downtown Bethesda, Md., where valet parking on every block is a zoo.

Around 10 p.m., I claimed my car from a most grumpy valet. Perhaps he deemed my 30 percent tip insufficient. His shoulder could not have been colder, his good riddance reeking of ‘tude. Like the Seinfeld valet, but in a different way, this guy was a real stinker.

I got in the car, pulled away and tuned in to an oldies station. Nearly halfway home, I heard some unfamiliar music within a familiar song. I thought maybe it was an alternate recording with an edgy backbeat.

The music persisted. I turned off the radio, but the music continued to play.

While driving, I carefully patted my surroundings and came upon a cell phone. I knew it wasn’t mine. (My ringtone is my cousin’s two-year-old granddaughter yodeling.) The music stopped before I was able to answer it.

I deduced that the villainous valet had left this valuable in my vehicle.

There was no choice but to do the right thing. I pulled a U-ey and returned to the restaurant, where I found a frantic fellow fumbling for his phone.

When I got out of the car, waving the attendant’s smartphone, his attitude changed.

In retrospect, I kind of wish I had done one of two things: change his ringtone to something like “You’re No Good” or ask for my tip back.

What would you have done?


Filed under Food, Rants and Raves, Technology and Social Media

Catch a wave?

It has been said that it’s the little things that bring happiness into our lives. Not to make this a glass-half-empty conversation, but isn’t it also the little things that drive us up the wall or at least make us shake our heads in perplexity?

I took a three-day road trip recently and noticed the striking disappearance of a little thing. So simple, but now, so gone.

I am talking about the thank-you wave.

Granted, I tend to overdo it. When someone is kind enough to let me cut over, I flail my hand back and forth for a good long time, just so the driver knows how grateful I am.

I also happen to be pretty darn generous with drivers who wish to cut in front of me—unless, of course, it’s some doofus who has flown down the shoulder and suddenly wants VIP treatment. But usually I allow one car. If each of us practiced this, traffic might just keep moving smoothly.

In the 500 miles I put in on the road last week, I’d say I let more than a dozen drivers slip into my lane ahead of me, just to be nice.

Not one thank-you wave came my way, in 500 miles.

What happened to this simple gesture of thanks? What made it extinct?

Others have noticed, I know, because mine isn’t the only commentary out there about it. I agree wholeheartedly with one woman who commented, “Let’s not let this gesture go the way of the R.S.V.P. or be piled on to the ‘that’s ol’ fashioned’ etiquette junk heap.” Another person started a blog entitled Thank-you Wave, in January 2009, but the blog is empty, in which case the wave has literally disappeared.

Part of me wants to be mature and not sweat the small stuff, while the other part wants to explode into a George Costanza-esque tirade and shout, “We’re LIVING in a SOCIETY…”

I’m sorry to be complaining so much this week. I don’t know what else to do, except perhaps keep on over-waving. And letting people in. And continuing to look for the best in my fellow motorists. Except that jerk riding the shoulder.


Filed under Rants and Raves, Travel

Buzz off

You never can tell with bees.

We all remember Winnie the Pooh, a bear of very little brain, trying to outsmart bees in a half-baked quest to steal their honey by floating up to a tree branch with a balloon.

“Wouldn’t they notice you underneath the balloon?” Christopher Robin asked. “They might or they might not,” Pooh answered.  “You never can tell with bees.”

Oh, they will.  Those mean, nasty, hurtful little demons.  You bet they’ll notice you and come after you with every trace of their vengeful wickedness.

If you can’t tell, I hate bees.

Last summer we called in a bee man after neighbors complained that there were yellow jackets coming from our yard.  The bee man came and, of course, there was nothing flying around.  He asked me to describe them—do they look like yellow jackets, hornets, wasps, bumble bees, what?  What do I know, they look like bees!  I don’t know one from another, I just hate ’em.  They sting.  The sting hurts, even kills.  I can’t enjoy time on our back deck because it’s them or me, and they won’t leave. 

Anyway, one or two flew by and I pointed them out to the bee man, who said, “Those are honey bees, I can’t kill honey bees.”  Then the neighbor walked over.  I reported, it’s honey bees.  She said, “Oh, well, you can’t kill honey bees!”

Well why in the world not?  Yeah, yeah, balance of nature, blah, blah.  Stupid nature. 

I can probably live without honey.  I can live without flowers if it means I can complete a crossword puzzle on a summer afternoon without being harassed by evil apiarian attackers.  And that infuriating buzz.  Heck, as much as I love Jerry Seinfeld, I didn’t even see Bee Movie

Sorry to drone on so, but get this.  I’ve just discovered that a colony of pollinating pests has built a hive in the rocker on our front porch.  And they were none too happy when I went out to sweep and unknowingly moved their cushy condo.

Well, I plan to cut them off at their little bees’ knees if it’s the last thing I do. 

Anyone have a hazmat suit?


Filed under Foibles and Faux Pas, Rants and Raves, Reading